


Fuges

by Missy



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Family, Five Stages of Grief, Friends and Nemesis, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a cough (Fill-ins and fix-its for the way the show handled Edna's death).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a cough. The cough was persistent, annoying, and enough to make Ned worry. Its very presence forced him to start hinting and prodding and poking at Edna until she was forced to pat him upon the head and call him ridiculous. He was the one who made the appointment, who dragged her down to the doctor, and who sat anxiously outside the office until she emerged with a cotton ball taped to the inside of her elbow. 

“All I needed was a blood test,” she sighed. “I told you you were scared about nothing.”

“Sorry, Edna – it’s hard for me to stop being a nervous Nedarino around you.”

They had gone on happily enough until the phone rang. The call led to more tests, to exploratory surgery, and to a final diagnosis – terminal lung cancer, totally inoperable. Six months left to live.

Enda handled it by going into denial – and smoking even more, to Ned’s dismay. She went on writing out her fall lesson plan and taking the boys to their CCD classes. She occasionally burst forth with fantastic ideas: maybe they should empty out the bank, go off on a trip around the world with the boys just like she used to dream about when she was a teenager. But mostly it was business as usual; Ned could do nothing but try to live their life as normally as he could and run the Leftorium kiosk, raise the boys and pray.

He did pray constantly – for guidance, for peace, having not the courage to ask God to spare this woman’s life. But there wasn’t any answer coming forth from God at the moment. He could only let Edna go on living at her own pace.

A pace that, he knew with great trepadacion – would soon be abrupted. 

**** 

“Bart, are you sure you’re all right?”

Only Lisa would ask him something so completely dumb. “Duh. I’m cool as a cumber, man.”

Lisa frowned. “Everybody’s talking about what happened this morning, and if you need to talk to somebody, I’m here…”

“Eew, Lisa, who wants to _talk_? Talking’s for lamewads!” 

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

“Kids,” came their mother’s voice over the cacophony of the argument, “nobody in this car is a wad. Got it?”

“Got it,” they echoed in return. A moment later, the car pulled into the driveway and the kids took a mass exodus through the front door. As always, Marge lagged behind with a grunt of disgust, taking the baby and a large sack of groceries with her toward the back door.

Over the hedge, she spied Ned pacing and – well, she didn’t mean to pry – but he seemed to need guidance. Marge, being nothing but helpful at heart, headed over to her neighbor and spoke tentatively. “Ned, is everything okay?”

He gave her an awkward smile. “Fine and dandy, Marge,” he said. “Edna’s feeling a lot better after her little dizzy spell.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything? I can come cook,” she offered. “Or I could look after the boys for the night.”

He shook his head. “The boys are gonna find out what’s wrong one way or another, and we’re gonna break it to ‘em in the most God-friendly way possible.”

“All right, Ned, if you’re sure.” She turned toward the house, groceries in hand. She’d have to see if Bart wanted to talk about what happened.

*** 

Ned, meanwhile, found Edna lounging upon the couch with a mug of coffee, with both boys staring at her worriedly. “I’m not going to explode, kids.”

“But teacher said you fell down in class,” said Rod.

“All I did was trip,” Edna soothed. “I’ll be fine. Can you just go get me another cold compress?” 

Both boys rushed off to refresh Edna’s towel, leaving Ned to nudge his way onto the sofa. “We’re gonna have to tell them sometime soon, Edna. I hope you know what you’re doing, making ‘em 

“I’m going to handle this in my own way, in my own time,” Edna explained. “When I absolutely have to. Those kids of ours will worry themselves to death if we let them in on it right away.”

“So we’re going to lie?”

“Don’t be so negative about it. Back in my class,” Edna said, “we would call that ‘creative truthing’.”

“That’s the kind of talk that gives the devil a little too much elbow room,” Ned shuddered. 

“I promise he won’t get his claws in me,” Edna patronized him, rising from the sofa. Ned’s arms shot out to catch her, just on the offchance that she might fall backward, but she walked steadily off to the bathroom.

“There goes an original angel,” Ned said to himself. 

He prayed that he’d have a few more months with her.

*** 

No one felt much like eating, but the Flanders ate anyway – Edna a bit more heartily than usual. Once it was over they curled up and watched some gold old fashioned PBBN. Rod and Todd sang along with the hymns and ran tiny plastic sheep across the shag carpet lawn as Edna sipped her late-evening coffee and watched them, for once not resist the sweet homilies belching forth from the television. It was cool and mild that night; spring was just a promise, and the sunset was edged with pink like a baby’s nightgown.

Edna’s fingers squeezed his fingertips in rhythm to the organ’s high notes and he squeezed back, echoing those signals. Trying not to think of the future, of the inevitable, of the chilling prospect of letting go.

*** 

One door down, a little boy lay in his bed and stared at his Krusty alarm clock, hypnotizing himself back to sleep.

He promised himself he wouldn’t think of the sight of his teacher lying curled upon the classroom floor. A mighty enemy vanquished by illness.

He turned over and denied to himself that he felt any worry. Tomorrow was the last day of school before the summer break, he told himself as he drifted off to sleep. And everything would be the same as it always was


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final day of school. Well. For everyone but Bart...

The final day of school commenced upon Springfield Elementary as it had for millennia prior. Summer had stricken the town early, and the school’s ancient air conditioner kept kicking on and off in choked, dusty spurts, making the children listless and cranky as the day wore on.

Not one teacher bothered to put forth the effort to plan a lesson out – Edna relied on a bunch of old Itchy and Scratchy educational corner videos, which lept in static The children were already in vacation mode, their feet antsy upon the parquet floors. Even model students like Lisa were tempted to glance at the clock, to gauge how many more hours they had left before summer set in. Construction-paper tulips wilted back from the open windows, and the air seemed to hum with plans and new hopes.

Some teachers still had one last moral lesson to impart to their students. Largo, Edna knew, was planning on trying to squeeze one last song into the day. She sneeringly wondered if he’d even make it through the first movement with the little squirmers he had. She had no such plans; today would be all about moral lessons delivered by happy elves who lived in trees while she sipped her Irished-up coffee and enjoyed the sound of the kid’s quiet chattering.

Edna finished off uncluttering the interior of her desk while they did so. She didn’t mind the extra work. Today was what her doctor so elegantly termed a ‘good day’. Two hours left to go and she could pick up Ned at the Leftorium and they could have an afternoon’s snack, then pick up the boys from Friday School and enjoy a little quiet time. All was well. 

Except for Bart Simpson, who was staring at her with a hoot owl-wide eyes.

**** 

Normally, Bart would have been wrapped up in fairly entertaining world that surrounded him. On the tiny television set the action-packed, violence-laden adventures of Radioactive Man played out in vivid reds and whites as he strutted around the small screen laying waste to his many enemies. A few inches away, Milhouse had a bo weevil in his ear that looked ready to burst forth and cause trouble. There was a cupcake in his lunch that he’d reserved, saving it for the ride home, the celebration of the school year’s death. But his easily distracted eyes kept dancing from the tv screen to his teacher. Back and forth. On a normal day he’d do anything he could do drown out Mrs. K.’s boring lectures and her lackluster lesson plans and now he was too worried that she was going to fall over in a faint to have fun.

What the hell was this feeling? Was it…concern. Eww, did he actually feel concern for her? 

He felt an abrupt tap against his shoulder and jumped to brush the hand away, only to find it was Milhouse trying to get his attention. 

“What?” he mouthed.

“Bart! You don’t seem invested in our hijinx today!”

Bart rolled his eyes and hissed, “Maybe I’m interested in learning from some quality children’s programming.”

“Uh, I think that alien’s eyes are made out of ping pong balls,” Milhouse observed. 

“Shh, I’m missing the nuance.” At that point the alien’s head exploded in a flood of blue oatmeal, sending up a chorus of groans from the kids. All at once the overhead lights came on and Missus K snapped the TV off.

“All right, that’s enough violence for the day,” she said. And, as if she’d willed it to happen, the bell suddenly rang, sending the throngs of happy, cheering kids to their feet. “Try not to murder each other,” she said, as they raced out the door. Once the dust cleared she reached under her desk and grabbed an already-full cardboard box. “Well,” she said to herself, “this is what it comes down to…I always hoped there would be fewer gobs of ABC gum and more…” she trailed off. “ Bart?” Suddenly there was a hand waving in front of Bart’s eyes, and he snapped to attention. “Are you feeling well?” 

“Fit and ready!” Bart said. “Do you need any help? I can totally carry that box for you?

“Bart,” she said, “this box is twice your size and if I let you carry it for me you’ll fall over and your father will sue me!”

“To be fair, he’d probably sue Skinner first….”

“Bart? Go. Home.”

“Got it. I’m outta here, man!” But Bart knew his teacher watched him retreat from the room, and that he’d worried her. 

He felt a little guilty for that.

*** 

Edna let out a protracted sigh as she finished emptying her cubbyhole in the teacher’s lounge. “Fifteen years and what do I have to show for it? A bunch of Schoolastic Book Club catalogs and a clay ashtray with a thumbprint on it.”

“Wel, Edna – I have heard it said that a good education is worth its own rewards.”

She eyeballed Skinner as he sat cleaning the lunch table, whistling some ancient pop tune to himself. “I’d rather cash in my senority and go to Portofino.”

“Are you going to do that?” he asked. “Surely you and Ned are looking into…alternative treatments.”

Edna rolled her eyes. “HA! I’ve got a tumor on my spine pumping death juice into my brain. What are they doing to do for me?” she then said, “This fall Ned and I are going to get on a plane and tour Europe’s nicest four-star restaurants. We’ll soak up some culture with the boys, give them some nice memories, and probably come home with bad sunburns and strange memories.”

“How did you convince him to do that?”

“I showed him a few brochures. You’d be amazed at how many walking tours involve a whirl through Europe’s nicest churches.”

“So you’ll have your favorite dream. Edna….” he said steadily, and enclosed her hand in his grip. His gaze, to her shock, brimmed with actual emotion, passion she hadn’t seen since their giddy dance in the cafeteria during the siege that had stated their relationship. But then he seemed to struggle with himself, to shove it away. More formally, he continued, “I need to give you your 401K forms back.”

“Seymour,” she said, gently but quite honestly, “I’m dying. Nothing you say or I do can change that.”

He released his grip on her immediately. “Of course,” he said. She sighed and poured herself a final cup of coffee. “Well. To the future,” he said.

She raised her mug and slugged down a mouthful of brew. “I think I’m going to miss this dump.”

“This dump is going to miss you,” he replied.

Peace lingered in the air, stronger than the odor of old cigarettes, until Ned arrived to pick her up.

***

Marge was worried. 

Not about Lisa. Her eldest daughter was one of those happy, promise-laden people, but even still she dotted every I and crossed every t. Her report card would likely be all ‘a’s. But Bart. Her BArty, her special little guy.

“This ‘D’ means you’re going to have to go to summer school and bring up these English grades, mister!”

“As cool as that sounds,” Bart said, “There’s one big problemo,” Bart handed her a flyer. “They’re getting rid of summer school ‘cause they don’t have enough money,” he said, with obvious glee.

Marge made a concerned but soft grunting sound. “I told your father we should have voted against that anti-fluoride play!”

“That was money well-spent, mom,” said Bart. Then he snickered to himself. “Glow in the dark teeth, what’ll they think of next?”

“I’ll arrange for private tutoring. And while I’m at it, I’ll find out if Lisa wants to take any summer classes at the Y.”

“She would,” Bart snickered to himself. His sister was such an apple polisher. She’d even brought a whole apple pie for Missus Hoover, just to wish her happy tidings before they took their summer break.

“Shoo,” she said. “You’ve mostly earned yourself a summer vacation.” Then as Bart disappeared out the back door Marge added, “Ninety percent of one!”

And then she was alone with Maggie and Lisa’s tootling as it echoed through the ceiling. Marge hesitated as she reached for the phone, for the first time in her life, to confront authority without kindness. Time has a way of stopping when you’re sick, freezing everything around you into a holding pattern of waiting and seeing. Or so Marge understood. She steadied herself and reached for the phone. Ned Flanders picked up the line two rings in.

“Hello, Ned? I was wondering –how are you and Edna going to be spending the summer? Oh? Hmmmm.” She glanced up the stairway. “Could you put Edna on? I have a question for her. No, it doesn’t have to do with the anti-fluoride play,” she shuddered. And once Edna picked up, Marge launched into her speech.

But the time she’d hung it up, Bart had a brand new lit tutor.


	3. Chapter 3

Bart’s summer began at nine o’clock sharp the next morning, with the sound of his mother briskly knocking at his door. 

“Bart, sweetie!” Marge sing-songed, ruffling his spikey hair until he groaned and turned himself face-down into his pillow. “Time to get up! Your summer teacher’s here for your first lesson!”

Bart grumbled some mild curse into the thick sham beneath his face, unable to do more than put up a mild fuss as his mother pushed back his quilt and nudged him into doing something productive. Bart ended up at the breakfast table with a bowl of cold cereal and sliced fruit and a plate of bacon; Marge urged him to eat, greeting Lisa with organic rolled oats and soy milk. His sister barely looked up from her volume of Proust as he settled down beside her and munched his way through a speedy meal. When the bell rang he was mid-burp and almost choked on his own spit. His mom raced to open the door and the person who passed over the threshold made Bart snap to attention.

“Principal Skinner?”

“Bart,” he said briefly, his lesson plan tucked under his armpit. “Once you’re done with your breakfast, join me in the backyard. We’ll ‘rap’.” He asked Lisa, “isn’t that what the children are calling frank chats these days?”

“Yes,” Lisa said. “In 1950s Juvenile Education Pictures.”

Bart gulped down another mouthful of breakfast before heading outside. Principal Skinner had claimed one of Homer’s deck chairs and held two slim novels in his hand. Bart thought to warn him that Homer’s rather hefty weight had long since eroded the slats of his lounge chair, but bit back the comment – to his disappointment, Skinner didn’t tumble through it but sat primly on the wooden structure. 

“Let me be truthful with you, Bart; I’m doing this as a favor to Edna. Your mother called your teacher this morning – she recommended I be the one to guide your grade up to a solid C,” said Skinner. “This summer, we’ll be reading Charlotte’s Web, and two weeks before the winter semester starts you’ll write a report. If that report pleases me, then you pass the grade. If you don’t, you’ll be held back.”

“Dude, this blows,” Bart complained. 

“If you’re going to complain about the quality of my teaching,” Skinner grumbled, “then you’ll have to go to the effort of finding another tutor. And I’m sure that that’s the last thing your mother feels like doing.”

“Rats,” Bart muttered. 

“Would you like the book?”

Bart held out his hand and Skinner slid him the thin paperback volume. Bart flipped the pages back and forth. “It is illustrated,” said Skinner, sighing.

“Good,” Bart said. Illustration meant that there had to be big enough print; which meant that the story must be short.

“And I think we both need a bit of distraction, in light of current events.”

“Hey, this Missus K thing isn’t worrying me!” Bart exclaimed. “She’s going to be fine!”

“Oh Bart,” Skinner sighed. And he didn’t add anything else as the day spooled out in long, sunlit streaks of beauty.


	4. Chapter 4

“They call this strawberry season,” Lisa said suddenly, distracting Bart from his reading. 

“Who’s the what now?” Bart asked. 

Lisa frowned. “I was saying that this is strawberry season. That’s what they call early June….”

“Bart, you seem very interested in that book, and I’m not one to discourage literacy, but the spine is falling into your mashed potatoes,” Marge said.

“Whups.” Bart picked the book up and licked the spine clean.

“EW! Mom!” Lisa called.

“Bart,” Marge scolded lightly.

“Marge, don’t discourage the boy. Unless the book’s about boobs, you’re too young to know about those. OH, or if it’s about snakes with lasers! Those creep me out.”

“It’s Charlotte’s Web, Homer,” Bart said.

“You’re reading about Charlotte’s Web?” Lisa said. “You’re _absorbed_ in Charlotte’s Web? What did Principal Skinner say to you today?” 

“What?” Bart said, clutching the book closer to his chest. “Can’t a boy enjoy a bittersweet story about a pig and his friendly spider?”

“…You just had a critical thought about a literary trope.” Lisa said. “Am I living in the Twilight Zone?”

“More like the Weirdlight Zone,” Bart scoffed. Lisa shut her mouth, staring at Bart until he returned to shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Oh Fern! When will you grow up?”

“Wait until you get to chapter nine,” Lisa muttered.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Oh nothing,” Lisa said. 

“Lisa, stop giving your brother book spoilers,” Marge scolded gently. “I remember when someone told me how The Gift ended! I was devastated!”

“Mom, that was a self-help book!”

“I know that! But I didn’t know how everything worked until Luanne spilled the beans during a church booster meeting!” Marge shook her head sadly. “All of those positive thoughts, wasted.”

Lisa groaned her disgust, but her mother remained happily oblivious. 

“Has anyone checked on Mrs. K today?” Bart asked suddenly.

“That’s Mister Flanders’ job, sweetie. Don’t worry about her, I’m sure she’s fine.”

And, as if to prove her a liar, a siren sounded nearby.

It was headed in the direction of the Flanders’ house. Marge sprung to her feet and raced to the back window, as if she could block out the ugly outside world from the children’s vulnerable gazes.

But she could not prevent Bart from seeing his teacher being carted out of her own home on a stretcher – a sight that caused him to flee for the safety of his bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Marge pressed her palm against the door, gently, carefully, she rapped her fist against the heavy wooden exterior. “Bart, honey?”

“Go away. I’m trying to….wax my catcher’s mitt.”

Marge gasped. “You’re far too young to be doing that, young man!”

“Huh?” Bart opened the door a crack and, sure enough, he was standing there oiling his catcher’s mitt.

Marge flushed. “Never mind. Can I come in?”

Bart nodded cautiously. Marge entered the room and sat down beside him. “Well, it wasn’t Edna,” she said. “In fact, she’s just fine. Mister Flanders accidentally dropped a hammer on his toe, so they took him to the hospital.”

“Oh,” Bart said noncommittally. 

“I’m going to go to her house tomorrow to keep her company. Your father’s gone to the hospital to pick up Ned – he’s not allowed to drive on pain medication.”

“Wait, dad went to go hang out with Flanders and he isn’t being forced to do it at gunpoint?”

“Actually, I asked him to do it. I hope he’s safe….”

**** 

The front door of Moe’s Tavern swung open, admitting Homer Simpson and a limping Ned Flanders to its inner sanctum. “Are you sure you’d rather wait here for the tow? This place hasn’t ever really felt…Triple A approved,” Ned said.

“Definitely. Put your foot up, take your mind off things, unclench, stop acting like a goody two shoes…” Homer said, holding up a finger. “The usual, Moe!”

“You sure?” Moe Syzlac offered from behind the bar. “They recalled my last case of Duff ‘cause the night watchman was washing mice in the still.”

“Hmmm….better make it a Duff Dark,” Homer said.

“Suit yourself,” Moe said. “How about Pushbroom Larue over there? Is he thirsty?”

“Oh, nothing but water for me, thanks. Got two boys and an unwell wifey back home, so I need my mind fresh and clear.”

“Hey, my sympathies on….Gretna?” Moe tried. 

“She’s not dead yet,” Ned said, surprisingly terse as Moe poured Homer’s beer and Ned’s water. Ned eyed the glass suspiciously and avoided sipping from it.

Homer, meanwhile, downed his entire drink in one go. “Hey, why don’t you have a soda on me? Gonna be awhile before the car gets fixed.”

“The only soda we’ve got is for cutting Jack and Coke,” Moe said.

“Sparkling water?” Ned gasped. “That’s the devil’s sody pop!”

“…Sody pop?” Moe asked.

“Don’t ask questions, you might get sucked into the lame zone,” whispered Homer…loudly enough for Ned to hear.

“Riight. Enjoy your water. Which ain’t for free,” Moe said.

“Put it on my tab,” said Homer.

“Your tab’s three hundred dollars over the usual limit.”

“Eh, I’ll worry about it later,” Homer said.

“But…”

“Laaater.” 

Homer turned his eyes toward the screen over Ned’s head. Ned’s eyes wandered, and it was then that he noticed a familiar face by the pool table. Getting up to speak to the man, Ned’s smile melted away as he noted the haggard.

“Are you all right, Seymour?”

“No,” said Principal Skinner. He took a drink of his beer. “No, I am not.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seymour and Ned talk.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

That was pure Ned Flanders. Only he would actually actively ask his one-time romantic rival if he was feeling all right, if he needed any help. Skinner stared at the shotglass in his hand, letting the amber liquid in it swirl about before putting it down. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Well, my mom once had a saying – ‘where tears flow, hope can like, grow man.’” 

“Ned…” before he could say anything, he was swept into a bear hug. 

“Let those feelings out, Seymour! Real men cry, too!”

“Ned, please release me.” He did, sitting back. “I have a lot of complicated feelings about Edna. You know this as well as, well, my mother would. She was the woman I wanted to marry for many years. When I failed to put her needs over my mother’s, I lost her. And for a very long time I was bitter that she’d moved on to find happiness with you.”

“Whelp, that’s something to take to confession. I’m sure the reverend’ll be thrilled.” Ned seemed uncomfortable with Skinner’s wrath being directed at him. 

“Now that she’s dying…” He sighed. “I wish that we had more time together. Every time I think about losing her my stomach sinks. And I realize for the hundredth time I never should’ve let her walk out the door.” 

Ned didn’t know what to do with his feelings either, and so maintained a pleasant countenance as Seymour poured his heart out. “Of course you don’t understand,” he said bitterly. “You _won_.”

“She’s a jewel, a one-of-a-kind woman and a brilliant gal,” Ned sighed. “And she’s going to be leaving us soon, so I guess we should both learn how to get along, huh?”

Skinner stared at him morosely and quietly sucked down the rest of his booze.

“I think I’m gonna go sit with Homer,” he said. Soon enough their tow was there and the twosome found themselves driving back to Evergreen Terrace.


	7. Chapter 7

Edna sighed and shifted on the couch. It was summertime officially now, and she was still coping fairly well with her diagnosis. Her symptoms weren’t worsening yet.

Her doctors told her there wasn’t a timetable for what was shapeshifting her body. But she felt pretty good as she settled in for a night of reading. Rod and Todd were in the kitchen with Ned, and she could smell a casserole burning up in the oven. The boys were setting the table and helping Ned slice up bread for dinner; it was a cozy, domestic scene. One Ned seemed invested in replaying, ever since that night he, Homer and Skinner had stopped off at Moe’s.

Even with her husband’s kindness in full effect, she cringed at the idea of more bland food. Edna hoped she could convince Ned to splurge on a pizza. 

The doorbell rang and she automatically sat up and moved to get it. “Let me!” two voices called from the hall.

But she was already standing. “I’m not that sick yet,” Edna complained, and turned the knob.

Standing there was a surprise. “Seymour?” she asked.

“Edna,” Skinner said, straightening up, shifting his shoulders. He suddenly seemed a bit more mature, a bit more “Good evening. Do you have time to take a walk?”

“Oh – well, dinner’s almost ready, but I think I’d be up for one.” She glanced over her shoulder at Ned and gave him a smile. He was watching her with a hand on Rod’s shoulder.

“Go on!” he said. “We’ll be here when you get back, burstin’ for some wurstin’!”

She smiled. “We’ll talk about that later,” she told him. As soon as the door was closed and she and Seymour were out of sight, she said, “I’m going to get a pizza out of that man if it kills me.”

Seymour didn’t laugh. “Oh Edna. Your humor’s as black as my mother’s right little toe.”

“That’s incredibly specific.” Side by side, they headed toward the peace of the Krustofski Memorial Garden, a tiny park that the famous clown had set aside in his rabbi father’s memory. 

“I suppose I’ll cut to the chase,” Seymour said. “I’m tutoring one of your students for the summer – Bart Simpson – to bring up his literature grade and hopefully move him along with the rest of his class in the fall. While our rappaport is decent, I don’t quite know how to reach him, and was hoping, with your help, I could land on some ideas that might be helpful.”

“Are you asking me for advice?” she wondered.

“We always made the best team possible when we put our heads together,” he pointed out.

She grinned. “Bart’s not that hard to understand. He’s got potential, but it’s hard to reach it, because he also wants attention. A lot of attention,” she shuddered. “What are you trying to teach him?”

“Charlotte’s Web. It was the only book I could find with teaching guides in the school library. ”

“Eh, budget cuts,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

He elbowed her side gently. “Edna, I’m going to get these children the materials they need, I promise you that.”

“Whatever,” she said.

“Be blasé if you must. But I know you care.”

She caught his eyes. She thought back over the years – about the many battles she’d faced with the school committee. Sitting on a bench, inviting him to sit beside her, she sighed and watch the traffic speed by. “Try to act out the book with army figures,” she suggested. “That might win him over.”

A look of relief crossed Seymour’s face. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have you, Edna.”

Edna grinned. She was grateful, too.

*** 

At home, Todd, Rod and Waiting for her. There was a big fat sausage pizza and a loaf of French bread and wine and juice. There was laughter and warmth. 

Even with her life narrowing down to these few short fragile flickers of joy – even with the end coming –there was still joy. 

That night she wrote a note addressed to Bart and placed it in the mailbox.

When Bart unfolded it over a dinner of pork chops, it read, “keep reading. Or I’ll haunt you.”

 

*** 

Across the way, Bart Simpson was huddled under his covers with a flashlight, the hour getting later. Milhouse and his mom were going to take him to the movies tomorrow, but he was busy trying to get to the end of the next chapter of Charlotte’s Web. Not that he couldn’t set aside that dumb book any time he wanted to.

“Hmp, stupid Wilbur. No wonder Charlotte has to explain everything to him, he’s so…woah! She’s writing with her webbing! I hope it’s a swear word.”

Even though it wasn’t, he hunched closer to the book and kept going.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skinner makes plans and Marge worries about Homer.

“Bart. You stayed up all night just to see if Charlotte would write a swear word in her webbing?” he could hear the taunt in Lisa’s voice, and Bart ignored it, shoveling eggs and pancakes into his mouth.

“That’s how I started out, but then the story got really interesting. I wanted to know if she was going to live.”

“Did you get there?” Lisa leaned over her plate, excitement in her eyes. “I always thought Fern…”

“No spoilers!” Bart cried out, slapping his hands over his ears. “I fell asleep just after Wilbur got his blue ribbon!”

“But..”

“LA LA LA NO SPOILERS!” he yelled.

“Lisa, don’t spoil your brother,” Marge said, arriving with a platter of pork chops and two salads. One she placed in front of Lisa, the second before her husband.

Homer smiled at her. “Aww, isn’t this a nice garnish for a delicious, thick pork chop!”

“Homer,” Marge said, “that’s your dinner.”

“Marge…it’s just lettuce and tomatoes!” 

“And some mushrooms!” she added chipperly.

Homer let out a tragically loud moan. “Aww, but I wanted waffle sticks!”

“Those are for special occasions,” Marge declared. “I’m worried about your weight, Homer. With Edna’s illness…”

“Marge, don’t upset the kids,” he instructed. “I don’t want to have to clean up after their upset tummies if you set them off.”

She grumbled but made no further comment. The family chattered on about other, more pleasant things, but the reminder had clearly affected Bart. In the silence he even helped Marge clear off the dishes. 

A few minutes later, Skinner knocked on the door, and their lesson began.

*** 

Seymour was visibly shocked that Bart actually seemed to be invested deeply in the plight of Wilbur and Charlotte. He did well on the quiz he handed out. Actually came close to acing it. 

“Bart, if you stay this interested in EB White, there are a few novels I could suggest.”

“Let’s not get too excited,” Bart said dryly.

“Of course not,” said Skinner. Then he eyeballed Bart. “I’ve been thinking – since Edna’s going to be…away from us this fall, likely.” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you thought it would be appropriate to gather the children in her class and throw a party of sorts. A tribute to her career.”

“Hey, it’s not my dime,” Bart said.

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Skinner declared. “Would you be willing to speak? Perhaps to sing?”

“Does it mean I have to spend more time in summer school than I already am?”

Skinner’s expression turned flinty. “Bart, if you help me with this idea I’ll look the other way and pass you to the next grade.”

“Woah,” Bart said. “You sound serious.”

“As serious as a heart attack,” Skinner said. 

Bart thought it over. It wasn’t as if he had much of a choice. “I’ll get Lisa,” he said, heaving himself up off the ground. “You’re going to need her.”

“I think I can function without an eight year old.”

“Just trust me, man.” 

Skinner said nothing as Bart took off and retreated to the house. Over the hedge he could see Edna and Ned canoodling in Ned’s kitchen and let out a low, heavy sigh.

He’d made a poor choice. But that didn’t mean that those poor choices had to go on forever.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **The Simpsons** , all of whom are the property of the **Fox Network**. No money was earned from the writing of this piece of fanfiction, and the author makes no legal claim upon the characters within.


End file.
